


Art Is Never Finished

by franktops



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drabble, Frerard, M/M, One Shot, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7069219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franktops/pseuds/franktops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were artists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art Is Never Finished

Gerard had always wanted to be an artist. Ever since he was a little kid tracing over the superheroes in Marvel comic books, all he wanted was to make art. To create something. He considered himself an artist when he sat alone in his bed room on Friday nights, drawing characters off in a distant land, one where it didn’t matter if they didn’t have dates on the weekend like everyone else. He considered himself an artist when he traded sleep for drawing, eating for drawing, social life for drawing.

He considered himself an artist up until he realized he wasn’t going to make it in the industry. Maybe he wasn’t an artist after all. Maybe he just didn’t have the talent they were looking for. He was not an artist.

Frank had never considered himself an artist. Strumming random chords on an out of tune acoustic isn’t art, it’s a pass time. Writing his own melodies and stringing them together until they sound just right, perfecting his finger movements until they come like second nature to him, humming along with words he hadn’t come up with yet, that’s not art. Being an artist is “gay”. And according to Frank’s stoner friends, being gay is bad.

He didn’t consider himself an artist until he realized it’s not a bad thing. Until he finished his first song, lyrics pouring out of him faster than his pen could scribble along the page. Frank realized he had a talent, and maybe, just maybe, that could take him somewhere.

It’s a funny concept, soulmates. The idea that two people are destined to be together from the start. That they can overcome all odds just to meet, fall in love, and spend their days together. Gerard never believed in soulmates, neither did Frank. Maybe it was fate that brought together an artist who didn’t know he was and a not artist who convinced himself he is. Or maybe it was just chance. They made their own art together. Not with paint and colors across a blank canvas, but with themselves. They painted in stolen kisses, clumsily searching for a belt buckle in the dark, pale hands with nails coated in chipping black paint intertwined. They were colors of merciless red and daunting shades of blue and they could get through anything as long as they were together.

They were artists.


End file.
